Stone
by Floranna
Summary: Neal touches a cursed object, and no one has fun.


It was a stone. Just a one damn stone, Peter thought. It didn't even look like anything special, rough rock about the size of a grown man's fist. It wasn't even smooth, or have any interesting markings. Just simple, boring gray rock.

But it still made Neal scream in agony and jump all around the room trying to scratch his eyes out. He and Clinton had had to nearly sit on him, while Berrigan called for an ambulance and bagged the stone. Now, five days later, he was still in his hospital room, strapped tight and kept under a strong sedation. Milder sedatives were of no use and doctors knew nothing.

Others had touched the stone before and after, Clinton, Diana, even himself, but only Neal had reacted like that. Others hadn't felt a thing.

Peter was starting to think that he was going insane, thinking that a stone did this. But there was nothing. Neal's past was a big mystery, so they couldn't tell if this was hereditary. Tox screen was negative, and they had tested everything they thought Neal might have touched, eaten or breathed for a chance it was something that disappeared quickly from the system. They showed absolutely nothing.

"So you are telling me that the cursed object is inside of the FBI."

Sam sighed at Dean's tone and nodded.

"We have no idea what that object is and how to destroy it."

Sam rubbed his forehead and said nothing. Dean was still able to extract the answer from his bitch-face.

"And it can turn people into a screaming, scratching mess."

Now Sam didn't even bother to answer.

"Marvelous. Fucking marvelous. Shall we swing inside like a Spider-man and drop it into a live volcano? That should destroy the curse." Dean's sarcasm was so thick that Sam was half expecting the acid to burn a hole through the floor.

"Where is Cas anyway? We called like an hour ago."

"Here."

Dean contained the reflexive flinch and turned to see Cas. Sam stood up from the bed with an eager look on his face and asked: "You know what it is?"

"Yes, I know. And it's not cursed, it's the Philosopher's Stone."

That produced a shocked silence.

"Isn't it supposed to change base metals like lead into gold? Or make person immortal? Not insane!" Sam sounded confused.

"It does, but it also strikes those it considers unworthy and gives them the pain they've caused other people tenfold. It judged this man and punished him."

Sam rushed to his computer and started searching. "The man's name is Neal Caffrey, and he is a convicted conman. He was sent to prison for four years because of forged bonds, but is a suspect of several other felonies."

"But wasn't he supposed to be with the feds or something?"

"I guess he is like Abagnale, working for the feds."

"Abagnale? Don't you mean DiCaprio in the movie?"

"Abagnale is a real person, jerk."

"Bitch."

Castiel cut into the middle, saying: "The Philosopher's stone is extremely dangerous and erratic, it can't be controlled and it brings only chaos around it."

"But can't you just poof in there, take it and leave?"

"No, I cannot".

There was a long awkward pause when Sam and Dean both waited for him to continue, until Dean rasped with an edge of anger, "And why is that?"

"Creations as powerful as it can have a certain range to them that disables all supernatural powers around it. Including mine."

"Then how can we destroy it if even your powers won't work?" Sam started to sound worried.

"By breaking it."

Sam and Dean both started to look very flabbergasted.

"So you tell me that one of the most powerful objects in existence that can nullify even an angel can be destroyed simply by throwing it to the ground?"

"Yes."

Trying to break into a federal bureau was always a headache. Especially this time, when they had Cas with them who was more than ready to walk right towards where he felt the 'disturbance in the Force' with no regards whatsoever to the other people that were around them.

Acting like agents from another city was beyond risky, but somehow it worked. Swapping the Philosopher's stone with an another stone was the easiest part, but getting out of the building was a lot trickier, when the FBI expected them to stay and explain their presence. Fortunately, the team leader was in the hospital with the conman, and his team who were still working in the case were slightly off-kilter, so Sam and Dean's bluffing worked.

When they finally got out of there, they took Impala and drove across the state lines and stopped in a rest stop. With a one good throw the stone was broken and Castiel left satisfied.

When Neal had woken from the drug-induced slumber, he didn't start screaming. But he wasn't okay. Doctors knew nothing, and this new passiveness was as strange to them as it was to him. That was six days ago and nothing had truly changed since.

Peter sighed and looked at Neal. His eyes were open, but he wasn't looking at anything. Peter wasn't even sure if he was blinking. Neal was in a fetal position close to the edge, holding the blanket tightly around his body.

"Any change?" It was El, arriving with a colorful flower basket. She looked worried and tight around the edges. At Peter's not-answer her face tensed painfully, but she put the flowers next to Neal's bed and came to hug him. Peter rested his head on El's shoulder and held her close.

Mozzie had come yesterday after Peter had left, nurses told him. He had been reading to Neal for several hours. Nietzsche and Voltaire they recalled.

Clinton and Diana had visited too, but Hughes was a surprise. He had told him in the office that Neal wouldn't be send to a prison hospital and if he would ever recover he might serve the rest of his sentence as planned in the white collar unit.

He tightened the hold he had on his wife and gave a rare prayer for Neal to someday wake up fully.

**AN:** I actually really really like Neal, even if people might find it hard to believe after this. Written while feeling depressed and with a massive headache. I would say takes part somewhere in WC season 2 and SPN season 5. I have no idea if those timelines even match.


End file.
